


Conflict

by jaekayelle



Series: It's Complicated [2]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaekayelle/pseuds/jaekayelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes being true to yourself means lying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conflict

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. The characters depicted are Real Persons but the words have no bearing on their lives. I am not making a profit from this story.  
> A/N: Having a little trouble with the timeline. Please just go along with there being enough time between the Fedal quarterfinal at Indian Wells 2013 and Rafa's semifinal for the events in this fic and those in the prequel to play out. 
> 
> Sequel to Can't Touch

After a sleepless night Roger texted Rafa, while Mirka was downstairs. He needed some communication with him, choosing not to think too much about the reasons why. When they'd last had contact it had been both awkward and enlightening.

 _Want to have lunch today?_

Rafa was on a fast track to the final, and then the tournament would be over and they'd go their separate ways again – Roger on holiday with the family and then back to Switzerland for training, and Rafa home to Manacor. He wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. He sent the text and then waited, sitting on the bed, hoping for a quick response. If not, then he'd shower, dress and get on with his day. 

He frowned when he heard an unfamiliar chirping sound, distant and somewhat muffled. It happened again. Glancing around Roger thought it sounded like another cell phone. He got off the bed and stood looking around the bedroom. The noise was coming from the laundry next to the bathroom. He followed it out into the hall and stood in the doorway listening. He realized it was emanating from the laundry hamper. He lifted the lid and the sound grew louder, so he pushed sheets aside until he uncovered the source of the sound. 

Rafa's phone. 

Roger saw his own text waiting to be accepted, which he did to stop it from announcing itself, as well as six missed calls. Rafa would need the phone. An excuse to go see him, if he could figure out where he was right now. 

He looked up Francisco Roig's number on Rafa's contact list and called him. 

“Yes?” 

“Francisco, it's Roger Federer.”

“Roger! So good to hear from you, but why are you calling from Rafael's phone?”

“That's why I'm calling, actually. Rafa must have dropped it when he was here yesterday and I just came across it now. Do you know where he is so I can return it to him?”

“Si. Yes. He's here on practice court 7.”

“Then that's where I'll go. Gracias, Francisco.”

“You're welcome, Roger. And thank you. We've all been listening to him fret about the phone since yesterday.”

Roger chuckled. “I'm sorry I didn't find it sooner. Tell him I'll be there shortly.”

“See you soon, Roger.”

#

Roger knew he should have sent the phone over with someone fairly anonymous to the fans and the media. By showing up at the practice courts after being ousted from the tournament he was just asking for lots of questions, but when he arrived and walked past the courts he noted that there were several players no longer competing who were out there hitting with their coaches and friends. Many of them waved at him as he walked by, so he smiled and responded to the greetings, shaking his head at offers to hit with him. It wasn't that he didn't want to practice -- even though he was supposed to rest, it was more that he needed to see Rafa. 

He walked along the back of court 7 and sat on the bench next to David Ferrer who was sprawled in the shade watching Rafa. 

“Roger! Why you here?”

Shrugging, Roger said, “I found something that belongs to Rafa. Thought I'd bring it to him.”

“Tell me it's his phone, please.”

“It is.” 

Ferrer clapped his hands together once. “Excelent! He has not been quiet about it since the last day –- since yesterday.”

Just then the fans spied Roger and started screaming. Francisco turned and waved to him. He poked Rafa gently with his racket and pointed toward where Roger sat. When Rafa turned around and saw Roger he smiled broadly. Roger lifted the phone and waggled it. Rafa whooped and trotted over. 

Handing it to him Roger said, “I hope you don't mind that it's been through the wash.”

Rafa's eyebrows went up and then way down as he realized what Roger meant. Then Roger touched Rafa's number on his own phone and grinned when the one in Rafa's hand went off. The look of relief was worth everything and they all laughed when Rafa pumped his fist in victory, like he'd just won a match. 

“Where was it?”

It was on the tip of Roger's tongue to tell him about it being in the laundry hamper, but realized there were too many people around who would want to know exactly how that came to be. How could he explain that he and Rafa had fallen asleep in his bed? He still regretted telling Larry Ellison. 

“It got mixed up with some things. Not far from where you saw it last.” He stared at Rafa hoping he would understand what wasn't being said. 

Rafa frowned and looked down at the phone in his hands. Then he looked up straight into Roger's eyes, comprehension dawning. 

“Ah. Should have remembered.” 

“Well, you have it now.”

“You gonna practice today?” Rafa's tone made it clear what he thought of that. 

“No. I should take it easy, probably.”

“How's your back, Roger?” Francisco asked with concern.

Sighing inwardly Roger replied, “It's fine. A little rest and massage and good as new.”

Rafa chewed on his lip but didn't say anything. Roger shifted away from him and noticed David watching both of them with interest. He grinned at Roger and then got up, clapped Rafa on the shoulder as he passed him and left without a word, presumably headed off to find some other entertainment. Roger watched him go, his gut feeling that Ferrer knew something or thought he knew something, and that was worrying. Francisco also walked away and they were alone, or as alone as they could be with several hundred people hanging over the fences nearby. 

“I forgot to tell you yesterday that Larry wanted to speak with you.” 

“Is okay. I saw him after I left your place.” 

They looked at one another, away, and then back again, their gazes colliding, hot and heavy. Roger made himself turn away first. This was crazy. He and Rafa were friends. They could surely stand here and have a conversation without all of this awkwardness. He faced Rafa again.

“I think...”

“We could...”

They both stopped and smiled. Rafa's expression was a little shy and Roger felt himself shifting from foot to foot like a schoolboy wanting to ask out the pretty girl. Actually, he felt like he was back in Sydney in 2000 trying to work up the courage to kiss Mirka. 

Mirka.

“I, uh, I should go. Just wanted to give you back your phone.” 

“Yes, gracias.”

Dammit, this was weird. 

“I thought we could do this. I don't want it to ruin our friendship,” Roger told him. 

“We meet later? And talk?”

Relieved that Rafa was willing to try to work this out he nodded. “I'd like that. The reason I found your phone was because I texted you to ask if you wanted to have lunch, actually. ”

“Where was it?”

“Laundry hamper. When the bed was made it must have maybe gotten swept up in the sheets.” He met and held Rafa's eyes. “So, lunch?”

They agreed to meet at a particular restaurant and Rafa went back to his practice. Some of the fans clamoured for Roger's autograph, so he signed a few things and then left feeling oddly hopeful. 

There was also a knot somewhere in his gut. 

#

They ate mostly in silence, occasionally exchanging glances that said a lot and still managed to confound Roger. If he thought about their situation too much he knew he would end up doing the right thing, which was to continue to hold Rafa just beyond arm's length, emotionally speaking. But part of him, if he was being honest with himself, did not want to do that. The more time he spent with Rafa after being apart for months made him want to spend more time with him, to be with him. To get closer. 

“Rafa.”

He didn't even know why he spoke. Why he chose to say Rafa's name out loud. 

Looking up from his studied perusal of his meal Rafa shifted his intense gaze to Roger's face. There was a world of history between them. Their friendship, their rivalry. So much of it played out on a stage before millions. And now here they were on the verge of possibly doing something that would be entirely theirs, private, forbidden. Stupid. 

Twisting his mouth into something that was half a smile, half a grimace, Rafa said, “Rogi. This is not right. We...”

“We can't,” Roger finished for him. “I know. I want to and I don't want to. Mirka...”

“You not hurt her. That not you, Rogi.” His shoulders went up and stayed there a beat too long for a man happy with his conclusion. “I want...us. You. I want you.”

Rafa's voice was quiet, even though they were alone in a private room. 

Able only to stare, Roger waited. There was more.

“But the only us is on court.”

“And like this,” Roger added, his voice a little hoarse, his throat tight. 

“Si. This.”

Roger sighed. “Yeah. This. No more beyond this. Friends.”  
“Just friends.”

Damn it all to _fuck_. 

Roger knew he should not follow through on this strong attraction he felt towards Rafa. But he really really wanted to. He wanted to kiss him senseless. He wanted to put his hands on him, to pet and stroke. He wanted to rut against him. He wanted to be inside him. He wanted to make Rafa scream. Roger was shaking so hard from the lust coursing through him he was certain that if someone walked in right now they would take one look and know every wicked thought he was having about Rafa. 

He pushed away from the table and stood up, and promptly sat down again, needing a few minutes to calm down. All of the blood in his body had rushed to his groin. He was so hard he ached and there was no way he could walk through the restaurant in this state. He wasn't even sure he could walk at all. So he sat staring at Rafa's bowed head. 

It was weird, the two of them sitting in silence.

Finally feeling that he had some control over his body he said, “I should go.”

Looking absolutely miserable, Rafa nodded.

Roger stood and stared a moment longer, equally unhappy. He reached into his pocket for his wallet and his credit card. 

“Is okay.” Rafa waved away his attempt to pay.

“I've got it,” Roger told him. 

Rafa met his gaze at last and it was full of heat and anger. It ignited something in Roger. He tossed his wallet down on the table and reached for Rafa, who rose to meet him. A chair scraped across the slate floor, its wooden legs clattering as it rocked and settled. 

Roger's hands framed the strong cheekbones and he leaned in to claim the crooked mouth as his own. Rafa had a spicy taste all his own. He eagerly opened up under Roger's assault. Their tongues met, tangling, gliding alongside one another. Gripping Roger by the upper arms Rafa pressed their lower bodies together and slid his leg between Roger's thighs. His hard length pushing insistently into Roger's belly reawakened Roger's own lust and he pushed back. 

Taking Rafa by the shoulders he steered him to the nearest wall and pinned him there with his body. He made small movements with his hips, Rafa catching the rhythm and rocking with him, clutching at Roger's arms, back, shoulders. The friction of two layers of clothing was painful and exquisite at the same time. Roger pushed into it, never releasing Rafa's mouth except to breathe into it. Rafa nipped and bit and kissed back. 

The internal pressure built and built until Roger couldn't hold back any longer. He came, panting but otherwise silent, ever mindful there were people on the other side of the door. Rafa threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut and shuddered against him. 

They leaned on one another for a moment. Then Roger kissed Rafa one more time and stepped back, but kept his hands on Rafa's shoulders to steady him. After a minute Rafa straightened his legs and stood under his own power. He stared, wide-eyed. And then he smiled. 

Roger grinned back at him, wanting to savour the moment.

Then the guilt sank in. He'd broken his promise to Mirka. In a public place where they could have been discovered at any time. 

Most importantly, he'd broken his promise to Mirka. 

He looked at Rafa who was still staring, but no longer smiling. Rafa's body language looked sadder. 

“You have regrets,” he said.

Roger spread his hands. “My wife...”

“Yes.” The one word response was a sigh.

“I feel like I should apologize to you.”

Rafa stepped forward into Roger's personal space. “No. Not that. Never.” He touched Roger's face, letting his fingers drift over him much like he did yesterday. “I must go.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Roger felt the stickiness in his clothing and made a face. “But first I need to clean up a little.” 

There was a private washroom attached to the dining room. He went inside and quickly made use of the sink, tidying himself as best he could. He straightened and looked at the weary man in the mirror. His back protested a little, the painkiller he'd taken earlier beginning to wear off. He stretched very carefully and was pleased when his body tightened and relaxed in a way it hadn't the day before. Progress. When he left the washroom Rafa hurried in and returned a few minutes later, his expression set.

They looked down at themselves. Respectable enough, but to make sure they both removed their jackets and held them in front. A nod from Roger, who retrieved his wallet from the table, and Rafa led the way out. Roger paid their bill and they exited the restaurant. While they waited for the valets to bring their cars around they stood in silence. It was not uncomfortable but Roger had no idea what to say. 

Hesitating before getting in his car Rafa finally spoke. “Thanks very much for lunch, Rogi.” His eyes were warm and friendly and Roger felt a weight lift that he hadn't realized was there. “See you at tennis.”

Roger watched him drive away before tipping the valet and sliding behind the wheel of his SUV. 

#

When he walked in the house Roger kissed his wife and said, “I have something to tell you.”

# end


End file.
